Unforgettable
by Angelique Daemon
Summary: Freya reflects on her time spent with a certain monk throughout the game, and afterward. FreyaxAmarant


Unforgettable

Freya/Amarant

**Title:** Unforgettable

**Pairing: **Freya/Amarant

**Rating:** R (language)

**Author Notes:** Um... I'm sorry, but after replaying Final Fantasy IX and watching these two interact... I couldn't help myself. There's no porn... because I don't know if I could write that, since it's a hell of a lot closer to furry porn than I'm comfortable with. Anyway, this is the companion story to my fic "Under My Skin", written from Freya's point of view this time, with the events of the game reflected upon, leading up to a year after the ending... and by that mean I mean a year after Zidane's reappearance. It can be read entirely on its own, without needing to read the other one, since it's just a POV shift. Anyway, enjoy? (For anyone wondering at the titles... apparently old lounge lizard songs are helping me write this pairing... shut up.)

The first time they had met... Freya had not been at her best. Who could have been, after what she had gone through? Her home had been destroyed, and then the love of her life left... her _soul-mate_ had forgotten her! To top off this cake of misery, she had watched Cleyra, and the king she had sworn her life to protect murdered by that... that disgusting _cow_ Brahne! Then... then she had had to fight beside the woman that had destroyed her home! But it had been for an important cause... Brahne, and Kuja as well had needed stopping, and sometimes one had to make deals with fiends to take out devils. After that... well she had been listless... well no, she had been _angry_! Enraged even... and full of self-loathing. She had failed her _everything_! Without a home, a leader, a people, or a love, what _was_ she?

So wrapped up in those thoughts she had been, that what had struck her first about him had been his bulk... literally. They had walked into each other on the Alexandrian docks. Her head had snapped up to give him a piece of her mind, when she had been struck again. She had seen a single gold eye peering down at her from under dreadlocks the red of the most intense blacksmith's fire. Not at her best, and just maybe still a little shock-ish from her wounds, her first thought had been of how she would have described it to Sir Fratley.

_'His eyes were __**gold**__, my heart! The exact same shade as a Grand Dragon, I swear had his skin been green, I would have thought he'd been sired by one!'_

How Sir Fratley would have laughed then, not at her but at the description, _'Oh Lady Freya, you've quite a way with words, to describe a man so fiercely, but mayhap you do him an injustice, speculating on his parentage?'_ Sweet, polite, kindly Fratley...

The thought had crossed her mind in little more than a fraction of a second, and to her mortification, she had felt tears prick her eyes. Crying in front of a stranger was most certainly _not_ something a Royal Dragon Knight of Burmecia did! She had welcomed the anger that filled her like a tide, and she had turned to leave without a word. He had called her back, had goaded her, until she drew her lance... oh it had not been hard to get her to do it either. The rush of battle lust, she had known, would take away everything other than the joy of the fight... But then the guards had interrupted them... and then Zidane had joined the interruption, and she had been so relieved to see the thief, she had been perfectly content to forget the redhead. Not for long though... it was difficult to forget someone with whom you traveled.

She... had not been pleased with the expanded size of their group. Oh, she had not had anything against them, of course, she just... found it hard to relate. She had not wanted to listen to Zidane try to cheer her up, or wallow in misery with Dagger and Steiner. Vivi... Vivi made her feel ashamed with the way he had soldiered on no matter what, worked through his pain and never gave up... She had felt as though she were not worthy to share time with him. As for Quina... well, Quina was Quina, and what more could be said? Eiko, the little summoner... had just been too much for the Burmecian's raw nerves, so not wanting to be totally alone, with whom had she found herself spending time? At least she had learned his name was Amarant... though she still occasionally thought of him as 'that knuckle-dragger'. Ironically enough, his quiet presence had been a balm to her raw soul, and his strength in battle had been something she could not deny. They had fought well together, there was no doubt about it, and she had come to trust him to cover her, as she covered him.

In Treno she had broken their shared silence, shame on her. She had wondered, much later, how things might have turned out if she had kept her stupid face shut, but no matter what happened, she never really regretted asking him about himself. She had not lied when she had said she genuinely wanted to know either. A person can only spend so long at another's side without wanting to know about them, after all. She had been surprised down to her toes when he had actually answered her. Perhaps no one had ever asked him about himself, and he had answered for the pure novelty of it. When he had finished his story about how Zidane had gotten him declared an outlaw, she had laughed. Oh, how could she help it? It was _funny_! This great, hulking monk outwitted and shamed by a little thief not yet even a man! She had felt a bit badly when the redhead had stalked off, but really...it was _hardly_ her fault.

Even after that rather poorly handled exchange, they had continued to fight together, and she had continued to seek him out between battles for the calming effect he had on her. She had known it was odd, considering the almost tangible aura of brooding and menace he exuded, but it had felt right to her. It had been a sign that had said _'There will be no sympathy offered here. Look for pity elsewhere,'_ and that had been exactly what she needed. She had broken their silence once, and she had continued to do it when it suited her. Occasionally he had done the same, which surprised her. She had learned he was originally from Deguerro, a place she had only ever heard rumor of at the time. Still, more often than not, she had been the one talking, about her home, about Fratley... perhaps she had been lancing the boils on her heart to let the poison out in the hopes that maybe it would heal. He had surprised her when he had responded one day, and she had sworn to herself that if he had said some... trite _shit_ about everything working out, she would kill him then and there. Instead what he had said had been, "It was an excuse, he either wanted to leave the country, or leave someone, but either way, it was just a way for him to escape. He sounds like a coward." She had been _furious_ that he would _dare_ say such a thing about a man... a man he was not fit to lick the _boots_ of! To make matters worse, the knuckle-dragger had dodged her blow, making her punch rock instead of him... not that she thought he would have been much softer. She had stamped off, swearing to herself never to speak to that _bastard_ again!

He had clearly had other intentions, she found at their next break in a town. She had heard him as she walked down the street on the way to the weapons shop, the scratch of his clothing against the stones as he shifted his giant frame, and the deep, rumbling sound of his breath. She had decided to ignore him, and walk right past him without acknowledging his presence, or breaking stride... But he had surprised her again, and piqued her curiosity so that she could not help but stop and listen to his basso rumble... with a chest like his to echo around in, how could his voice have been anything _but_ a deep rumbling? "Left my home country," he had said, probably knowing that she would pause once he had her attention, "Looking for money, looking for a fight, looking for who the hell knows what. When I got to Treno, I settled down there, thinking it would be the best place to find fights... and took the security job to give me an excuse to beat people to a pulp legally."

She had listened quietly to him until he stopped speaking, and then she had nodded. "It's a fool that seeks battle for battle's sake," she had replied, and could not help the smirk that had pulled at her muzzle when she saw his lips pull down as part of a scowl. _'Take __**that**__ you ignorant knuckle-dragger!'_ she had thought in triumph as he had stalked off that time. She had been quite pleased with herself for a while on that, since it not only justified Fratley's search for strength, but shamed the outlaw... and then she had noticed he was avoiding her any time he had the chance. Well... tough! She had been right, and she knew it... and yet she had felt bad for such a low blow. That had not been honorable at all, despite what he had said to her about her former lover. She had a code of conduct to live up to... and who was she to judge him? He must have accumulated that battle prowess somehow, and a man had to eat, however he acquired the funds. Ugh, she had wanted to drown her disgrace in a drink anytime she thought about it... and anytime she had felt his eyes on her. She had just been able to _see_ in her mind's eye those draconian eyes staring at her, probably thinking about what a... rat-faced bitch she had been.

What had surprised her was when he started seeking her company again. She had not thought he would forgive her for that insult but... she should not have presumed to know him that well. As with Vivi, the outlaw's presence had shamed her, that he could act with such grace and forgiveness... She had been wrong about him, and she wondered how to express it. Finally she had gotten up the courage to speak to him again, in an attempt to show him, that even as she used his silent presence as a balm on her scarred heart, she could be the same for him. He had not offered any input after that... not even when she spoke of Fratley. Perhaps... that had been his apology?

"I left my home, swearing never to return until I'd found my love," she had said bitterly one day, feeling the need to tell someone so keenly, she could not have kept it inside even if her life had depended on it, "and then I returned home in time to see it destroyed... and found my love only to find out he knew me not. Even if I cannot blame the latter on Kuja, he took the last thing that was precious to me. I left home for love, and now I'm without either." Ah, she sounded like a maudlin sack of cheap romance plays... but her head had still snapped up, and her body had stiffened in anger when she had heard the redhead snort in amusement, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him.

He had lifted his head and actually looked over at her, something he rarely did, and raised a brow... it would have been impossible to tell he had, if the motion had not moved one of his dreadlocks, so a bright golden eye peeked out at her, "I became a security guard to beat people up legally... and got framed as an outlaw by a thief, without blow one. Irony often strikes below the belt."

_'Oh Sir Fratley, if you could have seen the empathy in those eyes... I had been thinking about him like a Grand Dragon, magnificent, but merciless. How ashamed I am of myself not to have seen how we could be similar... and to have been unable to find a glimmer of humor, dark as it was, in the irony of our lives.'_ The tension had left her shoulders, and they had slumped as she looked away, too ashamed to meet those alien, but understanding eyes, "I suppose you're right," she had murmured, and walked away, her shame forcing her to leave his presence.

Why exactly she had taken to... for lack of a better description... talking to Sir Fratley in her head, she was not entirely sure. Some people had a journal, and some people spoke to the memories of loved ones. She seemed to be one of the latter... since her loved one was as lost to her as if the grave had claimed him. Sometimes it had helped to address her thoughts to that smiling, kind, understanding man... and sometimes it hurt more, but she supposed everyone had their own way of coping, and when their was no enemy to plunge a spear into, it was the only coping mechanism she had... other than leaning on the redhead, so to speak.

Some short time after that conversation, they had been captured by Kuja, and Freya's blood had boiled. Disgrace upon disgrace had been heaped upon her, and _then_ she was captured by the man that had destroyed her world! Some Royal Dragon Knight she was. To make matters worse, she had been selected to be part of the group to play fetch for the... the... harlot-ie transvestite! She had felt a deep unease at leaving the others in the castle... Kuja keep his word? Not bloody likely. Zidane was too trusting by half, and they did not really have a choice. But... they would make it right? After all... Amarant would keep the others safe, she could leave them in no better hands. Still, with her doubts nagging at her, the trip to Oeilvert had been _torture_! Not only had she been constantly plagued by worries about the others being alright, those stupid, evil damn epigraphs and their mirror ability had tormented her! She had almost fallen from the sky when one had spit out the monk. She... had not been worried about him... well no more than all of the others, she just... well she had felt a giant wave of worry for _all_ of them when she saw him, because if he were there in Oeilvert, then who was protecting the others?

She had, of course, been right about Kuja's untrustworthiness, but when she had seen Amarant with the others in the Desert Palace, looking disheveled, but just as cranky and surly as ever, she had felt _such_ a rush of relief... and even if all she had gotten from him was a nod, she recognized the nod of one warrior to another that acknowledged the prowess that not only had brought them home mostly unscathed, but their companions as well. It was a nod Sir Fratley had given her once upon a time, and she had looked away when she felt her heart squeeze. '_I think you would like him... once you got to know him, I mean. You of all people would certainly have the patience.'_

After their escape, and the meeting in Lindblum to hear the information Cid's wife had to offer, Freya had searched for the outlaw, wanting to talk to him, to tell him... to tell him about the epigraphs, and how glad she was that it had been an illusion, and how happy she was that he had made it out alright... Or something. In any case, she had found him, not in the castle, though that had not been much of a surprise, but in some little makeshift drinking shanty in a back alley. Well, the construction workers had to drink too, after all. She had been surprised when he offered her a seat... even if it had been simply kicking out a crate for her. She had taken the seat, unsure what to say, and had been even more surprised when he ordered her a beer. She had been at a loss for words. How was she supposed to tell him everything she wanted to say, without insulting him horribly? She had sipped her beer to stall for time, but she had been able to feel his growing annoyance at her silence. He had known she was there to say something. In an effort to keep him from being too annoyed, she had cleared her throat, and reached for the first words that came, "Amarant," she said slowly and then tried to choose her words carefully, "I am glad that you..." she had frowned slightly, and stopped herself before she said something foolish, and went with, "kept Eiko and the others safe in Kuja's palace."

She had known immediately that those were the wrong words by the tension that had bunched his impossibly broad shoulders. _Damn_ it, why did she have to keep putting her foot in her mouth around him? She had felt his anger rise until he had surged to his feet, looking like a volcanic eruption exploding from the sea, making the crate he had been sitting on flying back with a clatter. He had dropped money on the makeshift bar for his drink and then left... and all Freya had been able to do was watch with confusion and dismay as he stalked off. _'Oh Sir Fratley, why can I suddenly not speak to him?'_

At Ipsen's Castle, the monk had announced his intent to leave the group... and his intent to prove to them that he was better working alone while they all played at their teamwork... She had felt the urge to beat him about the head and shoulders with the shaft of her lance. Headstrong, cocksure _fool_! It had only made matters worse when the group had reached the central chamber to find the redhead there first. How he had sneered at them, so secure in his superiority. He must have seen her eyes narrow when he brushed passed her, because he had treated her to a special smirk the others had not received. Had... this been about _her_? What a... a... yarn-haired, blue-skinned knuckle-dragging _ape_! No, she had not wanted to beat him with her lance, she had wanted to put it _through_ him as he... _swaggered_ away! She had hoped he... he... caught an axe to the _face_!

The battle after taking the mirrors had slaked her rage slightly, but she had fumed the entire way back out of the castle. No one had been willing to talk to her, and so the others, Zidane especially, had been relieved to get outside and see the others. She had noted that Amarant was not there... the bastard had probably already stomped off, gloating the whole way. Her hands had curled into fists, and she had _sworn_ the next time she saw him, she would knock that damn smug expression from his face with her bare hands! Those thoughts had flown from her head though, when the waiting crew said Amarant had not come out. She had spun around right then to head back inside, but Zidane had to make a gesture. She had wanted to thwap him for it, but... well the redhead had acted as though he were challenging the thief, not her, no matter how she had interpreted it in the inner sanctum. So she had waited with the others when told.

She had smelled the blood long before she could see them return, and her heart had faltered. Her mother had always told her never to wish ill on people. She had bitten her lower lip at the sight of the petite blonde having to hold up the outlaw's giant bulk as best he could. Even at a distance, she had been able to tell that each step was absolute agony for Amarant, and she could only imagine what it had been like to climb all of those ladders and poles inside. Thankfully, the white mages had descended upon him, and he was as good as new in no time... at which point he surprised her. He... he had agreed to join the group, officially now, rather than just tagging along because he owed Zidane, or was trying to figure him out. He had even admitted in his, for him, speech that the thief _may_ have been right. She could not help but smirk at the reluctance with which he said that... and as the Fates would have it, she had smirked _just_ as she felt his eyes on her. He had seen it too, because she saw his hands curl into fists and heard his knuckles pop. Oh sure, it _could_ have been Zidane pissing him off, but she was somehow sure it was her. Perhaps that was arrogant of her, but she knew that she must have looked more than a little smug... and, though she was shamed to admit it, knowing that she had bothered him after his childish display of... assery... might have made her a little bit smugger.

He must have noticed because he spent the rest of the time they were preparing for their assaults on the elemental shrines fuming. She had actually started feeling ashamed again at her behavior. What was _wrong_ with her to behave like such a child where he was concerned? Despite her shame she had continued to seek out his company, hoping that her silent presence would serve as an apology. It must not have worked, because when they headed for the Fire Shrine, a place that truly only she and Amarant were the appropriate team for, since it would need to be jumped into, she had heard him growl at Zidane, "Do I _have_ to be partnered with _her_?"

She had heard the smirk in the blonde's voice when he replied "I'm sorry. Would you have rather gone with Eiko?" _'Way to make things worse, my light-fingered friend.'_ She had walked into the same room then, and had been slightly surprised to read a hint of guilt in the redhead's body language. Wishful thinking on her part? Perhaps. Since she was unsure, she had stayed quiet, and they had descended into the shrine. At some point... at some point while fighting together, just the two of them cutting a path through the shrine's underling, the monk seemed to finally understand what she had wanted her constant presence to tell him. He had relaxed, and seemed to understand that she had not been implying he was less than he was, simply, if somewhat childishly, repaying smugness with smugness. By the time they had stood before the fiend, so spoiling for a fight, he had even seemed moved to try to express his own... apology, perhaps... for his behavior. Words were difficult for him, but she had understood, and said his name softly to let him know that she knew who his message had really been for. Their fight afterward had been... indescribable. They had worked better together than she and Fratley ever had, attacking in tandem, and functioning as two parts of the same machine... the same being. It was like... _'Oh Sir Fratley, it sounds stupid, but it was like being synthesized into something better than you ever were alone.'_

After the shrines, they had made their way to Terra, where time did not flow. She had spent that unmoving time in the monk's company once again. This time, however, when they did not speak, it was because they had finally reached that perfect understanding. There had been no need for words beyond the few required to ascertain whether or not one was hungry, tired or thirsty. Despite their silence, they had once more worked in perfect tandem to help Zidane when he had been caught in Garland's trap. It had worried Freya though, when the battle had ended that the thief had told them to go away and leave him alone. It had pissed the outlaw off entirely though, and when his rebuke of the blonde had only netted him another dismissal, he had started to go after the younger man. Without thinking, she had reached out and grabbed Amarant's arm. She had simply shaken her head when he looked at her, telling him without words to let it drop. As they stood there, her hand on his arm, she realized... this was the first time they had touched. Well, the first time they had touched skin to skin. He had been... so warm. Geeze, no wondered they called him the _Flaming_ Amarant, he was almost hot to the touch! His skin had been rough under her palm, and she could feel the muscles underneath it, heavy and dense, and strung together with sinew like cables. After a moment like that, she had suddenly realized that she had been touching him... far longer than was necessary, and he had been staring down at her hand. She had quickly pulled her hand away, and murmured an apology, not wanting to annoy him now that they were getting along again, and she had pulled her helm down a bit to hide the blush that had risen to her face. Acting like a ditsy school girl at her age and rank... _really_! For a moment though... _just_ a moment... she had thought he just might reach out and take her hand again... but clearly that had simply been a flight of fancy, because he had grunted in his usual eloquent way, and then went and freed Eiko and Vivi from the room in which they were trapped.

When they had returned to Gaia, and discovered the world was then completely enshrouded in Mist... they had known where Kuja was, and what must be done. They had rushed to finish last minute preparations, and had ended up in Treno. Zidane had said he had business with Queen Stella that would result in them getting the best equipment possible. Freya had hid her doubts but said nothing. She had gone off on her own, but had found Amarant outside of the synthesis shop, standing at the water's edge. She had joined him in silence, since there had been nothing to be said. They simply stood in the City of Eternal Night, and watched the reflected lights ripple in the water, two silent warriors making their peace, should the worst happen. She did not know who moved first, but after what seemed like hours, they had both turned to the other and reached out. Her large hand had still been completely swallowed by his, but he must have checked his strength, because neither hurt for the brief shake. Though neither entertained the thought of defeat, neither were ignorant of the possibility. Two warriors, two comrades, got their goodbyes out of the way before they ever reached the final battle. There were no regrets that way.

Memoria had been torture. Freya had not wanted to stroll down her own memory lane, let alone tip-toe through the memory of an entire planet with Zidane talking to... a voice in his head? His dead creator? His imagination? Who knew? She had been relieved to reach Kuja, despite the brutality of the battle. It had been a balm to her soul to once more, and for the last time, drive her lance into his body, to carve her pain into his pale flesh, and give him at least a fraction of the pain he had given her... Until she had heard the last thing he said. He no longer had to be afraid. What... what did that mean? She had not been given long to wonder, because he had cast Ultima to drag them down with him. Girly-hipped, narcissistic, transvestite bastard! Left incapacitated, laying on the floor of nowhere... there had been another. Another enemy to fight, another being trying to destroy her world and all she loved... she had tried so _hard_ to get up, to grab her lance, but... she had been unable to move, too weak, too... "Try not to screw it up," Amarant's rough voice had seemed to whisper in her ear as strength flowed through her once more... his strength, and surely the last of it if he had not simply gotten up to fight himself. She had pushed herself to her feet and tried to go to check on him... but she had disappeared from that world.

Necron. Even... even afterward she had been unable to relate the power, the awe, the sheer terror... and the pain, _gods_ the pain! But... The others had sacrificed themselves for the four of them to stand before this monster (or so she had thought at the time). The monk would not have given up, and she had decided that she would be _thrice_ damned before she let him shame her by failing after his backhanded vote of confidence in her. After that... well after that she had not been sure what the hell had happened. The next thing she knew they were outside the Iifa Tree, except for Zidane... At that revelation, she had not had time to look for who else they might have lost, because she had had to help Steiner restrain Dagger. Despite their loss, she had felt a small wave of relief at a familiar grunt somewhere behind her, followed by Eiko's demands for the outlaw to release her. Thank the gods.

Why they had had a victory celebration afterward, Freya was unsure. Maybe because the populace needed it, or because the people a few steps removed from the group needed it. None of the remaining seven had wanted it... not without Zidane there. Even Steiner was mourning. She... had not been able to remain at Dagger's side... perhaps that made her a bad friend, since she should have been able to empathize with the princess, considering the loss of Fratley, but... it did not seem right, when Fratley might return to her. Instead she had, as ever, sought out the outlaw, the dweller on the peripheral, the shadow just outside the shadows... _'Oh __**gods**__ Sir Fratley, how maudlin have I become?'_ She had pushed those thoughts aside, and stood next to Amarant's towering bulk, comforted by the familiarity. She had broken their silence... but then she almost always was the one that did. "What will you do now?"

"Dunno," he had rumbled, shrugging his massive shoulders, "go back to bounty hunting I guess." He hand fallen quiet, and she had thought that as the end of it until he said, "You?"

She had been so shocked, she could not answer him at first... and then she had actually thought about it. What [i]would[/i] she do, now that she had nothing? "I am going home," she had said finally, "I made a promise to the soldiers, and..." she had faltered for a moment before continuing, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper "and the faint memory of duty brought him once, perhaps it will draw him again." His derisive snort had angered her _far_ more than it should have, but... but... How _dare_ he render judgment on her decision like that? In the face of all this loss, all this sorrow, how _dare_ look down upon her for trying to reclaim what had made her happy, and given her a reason for living? Stupid, insensitive, unevolved, bone-headed knuckle-dragger! She had wanted... she had wanted to black his beautiful golden eyes! "I don't expect _you_ to understand," she had snapped, her hands curling into fists, "You're the Man with No Soul, after all, the almighty Flaming Amarant, the rock that needs no one. If you'd a heart in your chest... well it would probably be someone else's that you were trying to eat!" she finished rather lamely before she had turned and stamped off.

"Stupid rat-faced bitch," she had heard him call disdainfully after her... and then she had heard a sound rather like a ham hitting stone with great force... he must have punched the wall. She had left then... it had not been a good note to end on, but she was beginning to think that was just how it went for them.

She had thrown herself into the work of rebuilding Burmecia. She had been a hero after all, someone for people to rally behind, and work had gotten done... so much work in two years, and yet it sometimes seemed as though nothing at all had been done. The Realm of Eternal Rain seemed to be the Realm of Eternal Ruin, and it made her heart ache. How she had left things with Amarant had made it ache worse... and any time she had seen a shock of red, or a flash of green and blue, she had thought... but no. Why would he ever visit Burmecia? She was a rat-faced bitch. Who the hell had known that the antisocial, rude, foul-mouthed monk would be so unforgettable?

She had... she had thrown herself into something else, in addition to the rebuilding of her homeland. Fratley had returned, along with Prince Puck, but the former had been _far_ more important to her. He still did not remember her... but he had wanted to, and he had wanted to get to know her. How her heart had _soared_! She had thrown herself into the relationship, working as feverishly at making it perfect as she had at making her kingdom come to life once more. She had... well she had been forced to sacrifice a few things, but that was how these things worked, right? Compromise and sacrifice? So why... why had she been unable to forget the sound of his derisive snort? And why had she always seen him in her mind's eye with a sneer, and a disappointed look in his golden eyes?_ 'Oh Amarant, what you would think of me if you could see me now?'_

Two years after their sour parting, she had been invited back to Alexandria. Before leaving... sitting in the eternal rain, in front of the fountain where they had first declared their love... Fratley had told her he loved her again. Her heart had been filled to the brim with such... doubt. He did not _know_ her! How could he love her, when all he knew of her was what she had become after returning home? _'Don't look at me that way, Amarant,'_ she had said to her internal vision of his sneering face, _'he's what I've always wanted... and I love him.'_ She had forced herself to be excited, she had built herself up, and dwelled upon it all the way to Alexandria. The love of her life loved her in return! What kind of woman would she have been _not_ to be happy about it?

When she arrived in Garnet's kingdom she had... Oh gods she had smelled him. She... _never_ would have told him, in fact she would have rather _died_ than admitted that she tracked him by scent, but she had smelled the monk as soon as she passed through the gate, and had known he had traveled that way. Oil, and leather, and the hint of tobacco smoke found in Treno bars, as well as the scent of old blood all threaded through with the faintest scent of waterfalls... _'You would laugh at me if you heard me describe your scent, you knuckle-dragger, I know you would!'_

She had followed his scent until she had caught up with him in the square in front of the theatre entrance. He had turned as though he had known that she was there... and there was no hatred on his face, and she had been almost dizzy from relief. He had nodded at her, just like he had a lifetime ago when they had been traveling together. "Amarant," she had said once she drew abreast of him, her voice so soft she wondered if he had even been able to hear her, "I wanted..." she had faltered into silence, unable to think of what to say, how to make things right, and had simply walked at his side as they approached the theatre. They had taken their seats, and let the silence continue all through the play. Even at its conclusion, and Zidane's big reveal, they said not a word to each other. They had applauded along with everyone else, and Freya had felt such a _fierce_ sense of joy and relief for her friends that she had left the stands and joined the others in greeting and well-wishing the reunited couple. It had taken her a little while to realize the monk was gone... how typical.

She had sought him out, and been wholly unsurprised to find him in a bar. Whatever he had been drinking made her want to sneeze, but she had refrained as she approached him, and stood beside him... no one ever really stood _over_ the giant outlaw. As in Lindblum, a lifetime ago, he had kicked out a stool for her, and then signaled the bartender. It had been like a balm to her nerves, even if it set her on edge. Had he forgotten their... exchange? Un-bloody-likely. Would he get upset with her for bringing it up again? She had ordered a plain ale, since she had wanted nothing to do with whatever the redhead was drinking, and had refrained from talking until she got the mug's entire contents in her in one long gulp. How crude she had become. After a moment, she had turned to him, "Amarant," she said quietly, glad her helm obscured her eyes, so he would not know her for the coward she was to be unable to look at him... he probably had known anyway though... "We... I..." she had frowned as she bungled the words. Damn it, why was it so hard to talk to him sometimes? "I behaved in a beastly manner upon our parting, and... said some things that I did not mean and should not have said. I... beg your forgiveness. I would not have us part on bad terms." Feeling a bit like a naughty child, she had risked peeking at him from under the cover of her helmet, watching him take a sip of his drink.

She had been shocked, and thrilled down to her toes when he had, in a rare show of... camaraderie perhaps, reached out one giant hand and put it on her shoulder giving it the slightest of squeezes. "Forget it," he said in all his eloquence, "never happened."

Freya had sighed in relief, feeling such a weight lifted from her shoulders. Distantly, she had noted that he was still blazingly warm, her neck being heated just by the proximity of his hand to it. "I am glad to hear that," she said, her voice genuine. She had thought for a moment, and when she spoke again, there was a smile on her face, "I was right," she informed him, "Duty brought him back to Burmecia. He has been helping us rebuilding, and protecting the city once more..." she had gripped the bar, excitement rising in her at a chance to _finally_ tell the redhead what she had been telling him in her head for two years. She could _finally_ make him understand, so that look in her mind's eye would go away, "We've... well, he's becoming reacquainted with me... and he's returning my affections..." she had laughed then, and it was because she was happy to tell him this after she had told him... so many other things on their journey... or at least that was what she had forced herself to feel and believe, "How many people get to find out that if their mates could do things all over again, they would still choose them?"

The monk had shrugged, "Dunno," he said, and then after a moment had added, seemingly on a whim, "Who are you trying to convince? Me, or yourself?" She had stiffened at that comment, and could not help but wonder if he could secretly read her heart. How could he had _possibly_ know, or even suspect that... She had jumped slightly when he had reached out and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, "I'm a bastard," he said simply by way of apology, "Let me pay for your drinks... Freya." _That_ had made her turn to stare at him in surprise. He had never said her name before, and more often than not had simply called her 'you' or 'rat' when he really wanted to be specific. She had relaxed after the initial surprise and nodded, taking his apology for what it was. They had remained at the little back alley tavern, drinking in silence for hours more before finally parting ways. She had wished him good health, and he had nodded, and waved a hand vaguely, and she assumed it indicated he wished the same for her. It had been much better than their last parting and nothing had been punched... So why had she felt more sorrow than she had felt the first time they parted ways? Bah... she had the love of her life, who was falling in love with her all over again, and her home was being rebuilt, and soon she would have everything she had had before Fratley ever left! She was just... she was just sad that a chapter of her life was closing, which was perfectly normal. But a new one was opening, and it was going to be... It was going to be _good_! She had sworn to herself on the road back to Burmecia that she would make it good, no matter what!

Another year passed and she had been able to get Amarant out of her head. There had been days where she had been just a hairsbreadth away from dropping everything, grabbing her lance and walking away... But how could she? She had failed her duty thrice before, she could not leave her home on its own again! Had she no honor? _'Oh Amarant, how you'd laugh at me, and my sense of duty...'_ When had she started doing that? She knew that she had... addressed her thoughts to Sir Fratley when she had lost him, so why... why was she addressing them to the monk now? "Maybe I've simply lost my mind," she had muttered one day while thinking about it. That had earned her a few odd looks, since she had been in a council meeting, but she had not apologized for it, or made excuses. She had continued to catch herself looking off in the distance, hoping for a flash of red the color of blood, or a waft of the combined scents oil, leather, Treno tobacco, old blood and waterfalls. Damn it all to hell! It had not helped matters that every time she had wanted to head out and kill monsters to relieve her frustration, she had been stopped. Prince... no, _King_ Puck had insisted that they needed her to stay in the city and help with the rebuilding and Sir Fratley... Oh Sir Fratley...

He had changed. Well, that was to be expected, but he had changed _so_ much! Or... perhaps she was misremembering him? Perhaps he had always been so protective, and... sexist, and condescending... Oh who was she kidding? The only time the old Sir Fratley had protected her had been when she was greener than grass, and had just learned how to jump! The old Sir Fratley would have talked Puck into letting her go on patrols, because he understood a warrior's restlessness, he would _not_ have... have... treated her like some silly chit! _Gods_ she missed Amarant! Even when they clashed, he had never implied that she was anything other than a warrior. Maybe... maybe she would go seek him out... Visiting old friends would be good for her... and if King Puck said no, then... she would pull his hat down over his eyes and go anyway, the little brat!

"Lady Freya?" she had turned to see the love of her life... or at least what he had become... and realized that her hands had been curled into fists, and forced herself to relax them. Fratley had looked at her oddly for a moment before continuing, "My love..." Why had that made her heart squeeze in the most unpleasant way? "I notice that you have been restless, and dissatisfied," he had held up a hand when she tried to protest, "Please, my lady, no lies," he had smiled, and it had looked like the old Fratley she remembered, "I am not a fool. I know what's wrong..." protest had rose once more to her lips, but what he said next shocked her mute, "Lady Freya Crescent," he had taken her hands, "would you do me the honor of being my wife?" he had interpreted her wide eyes as... pleasure rather than the shock they had indicated, "You will not have to fight anymore, my lady," he had gone on gallantly, "I am more than strong enough for both of us, and I shall spend my life protecting you!"

Something inside Freya had shattered... perhaps it had been her heart, perhaps it had been the rose-colored glasses through which she had viewed her old love, but those words... those words had cinched it. Her Sir Fratley was dead. _'Oh Amarant, you knuckle-dragging __**bastard**__, you were right! You've been right all along... Once more you've shamed me! I've tried so hard to forget you and your words, only to have your spectre and good sense haunt me... I...'_

Fratley had grown unsure during her silence, though he had been trying to hide it. She had seen it clearly in his face, followed by the confusion when she had withdrawn her hands from his. "I am sorry, Sir Fratley," she said, standing up straight, "but I am not 'Lady Freya Crescent'," the confusion deepened, "I am Sir Freya Crescent, Royal Dragon Knight of Burmecia," her shoulders had set, and her chin had lifted, "I am a hero, and a savior of this world, and I am _not_ some weak chippy that needs to be protected!" she had been yelling then, and it felt _so good_! "I am _sick_ to my very _soul_ of playing a role for you, and I am fed up with everyone treating me like a trophy rather than a person! I am leaving this place! Weapons are not meant to hang over the fire place and rust! Find a new figurehead to rally behind!" With that, she had turned and run back to her house, and began the feverish process of packing everything she needed. She had decided. She had done her part and redeemed herself, she would stop this... self-flagellation, and move on with her life. _'Would you finally stop sneering at me, if you could see me now, Amarant?'_

That thought, that very thought, had been the one that led her to the tavern/inn in Treno. The intelligence she had gathered told her the outlaw was in his old haunt, and if she was going to find him anywhere, she knew to look in a bar. That was how it had always been with them, after all. She walked in, and immediately spotted the monk, his mountainous profile impossible to miss. He did not look up, but she had not expected him to, he never did. She ignored the murmur of recognition that went through the crowd as she walked over and stood beside, because no one could stand _over_, the redhead. He ignored her. Her eyes narrowed under her helmet as she waited for him to kick out a stool, or say something, but... he simply drank his drink. So that was how it was going to be, was it? When he signaled the bartender over, she gave up on waiting, and took a seat with a snort, the banked anger that had driven her here rising to a simmer. She tapped the bar, indicating that she would like a drink as well. They sat silently as the drinks were brought over, and he _must_ have seen her hand as she reached for her mug, but still the silence stretched. So, she was going to have to break the silence... but she did not know what to say! She had been planing some... some _speech_ for when she found him, but that all flew out of her head. They looked at the drinks... they drank the drinks. The pair tapped the bar, and more drinks appeared. "You're a bastard," she said finally, and it was _not_ what she _wanted_ to say, but it was what came out. What was it about him that brought out the worst in her? They drank their drinks again as she waited to hear the voice that had haunted her memory, and had refused to leave her mind.

"I told you that already," he finally rumbled quietly, tapping at the bar again for the next round. It was so _good_ to hear him again... What a bloody fool she had become!

She shook her head as she felt her anger rise again, though most of it was mostly directed at herself, "You're a bastard because you're _right_, damn you," she said venomously, praying that he would not hear the multitude of emotions she was trying to hide, but somehow sure that he would, "He does not _know_ me... not even after three years. His memory _still_ hasn't returned... and the Freya he loves now is not the Freya he knew... it's not the Freya I _am_!" she pounded the bar as her anger reached a boil, and the need to hit something overtook her, "He knows the devoted Dragon Knight, bound by duty and honor! The Dragon Knight that has helped rebuild our country. The Dragon Knight..." she punched the bar again, "The Dragon Knight that stays safely in town and leaves the defense of the realm to others because she's too _important_," she spat the word like a curse, "to pick up a lance and head out to the front lines! He said he'd protect me... _He_ would protect _me_!" that came out and a half scream of frustration and anger, and hurt, and it had felt _good_ to stop being so damn formal and polite and let it out! "Like _I_ need a protector!" she pounded the bar, "Have I _ever_ needed a protector before?"

He surprised her when he spoke, "No, Freya. The only thing you have ever needed was a partner to share the load." That had been like a balm to her anger. Thank the gods, he _did_ understand. She fell silent and relaxed a bit, even though the anger was still coursing through her, and she could hear her own slightly labored breathing. He was, as always, like a rock. Unmoving, unruffled... so very much the same... "You're a rat-faced bitch," she hissed in surprise and indignation at his words, and felt her temper rise once more when she looked at him and saw him smirk into his beer, "You've tormented me for three years, while you've been chasing after your coward." He paused a moment, but... what could she say to that? She... she had? What... what did he mean? "You had your fairy tale ending, _my lady_," the title was laced with sarcasm, "so why are you prodding the troll out from under his bridge?"

So he did _not_ understand... and not only that, he was going to _mock_ her? Freya's anger boiled over. How _dare_ he? How _dare_ he tell her that he had spent all this time thinking about her, and blame _her_ for it, for his... his inactivity! "I was wrong to apologize in Alexandria," she hissed angrily, "You _are_ a heartless, soulless bastard!" she shot to her feet, her stool clattering to the ground, "I was a fool for coming here! I just thought..." she faltered, unable to put into words what she had been thinking, and simply shook her head, "I thought you'd understand. I should have known better!" She turned to leave, too angry to care that this was exactly what she had _not_ wanted to happen.

He surprised her yet again when one of his giant hands shot out with such speed and grabbed her arm. She expected it to hurt, but he was being... gentle with her? She watched him surge to his feet, like a mountain thrusting up from the land during an earthquake, and she was unable to resist as he pulled her against him, and moved those giant, deadly, immobilizing, but so very gentle with her, hands to her shoulders. She could feel the anger combined with the body heat radiating off him like a furnace, and despite the situation she _finally_ felt warm and alive again for what seemed like the first time in three years. She was not going through the motions, a puppet to honor and duty and memory, she was _living_ again! She was distantly aware that the redhead was keeping her from being able to reach her lance, which _should_ have worried her, but she knew in her heart of hearts that he would never hurt her, no matter how angry he was. "If I'm a heartless, soulless bastard, then it's because _you_ took them!" he snarled at her, "I didn't _want_ to know you! Hell I didn't even want to _travel_ with you! But there you were. I couldn't fucking _escape_ you! Every time I sought quiet, you were there. Every time I sought battle, you were there. No matter where I looked, you were like a... a fucking pink splash against every single backdrop possible. I can't get you out of my _head_ woman! I've been tormented by you, and your spectre when you weren't personally there to do it!" she felt a tremor in his hands, and knew that he was fighting the urge to shake her, "But you went off to chase your fairy tale ending, even though you _knew_ it wouldn't work! You _knew_ in Alexandria you were chasing shadows!"

The accusation hurt... and it hurt because he was _right_! She had known, oh how she had _known_ that she would never be happy with Fratley in Burmecia, and she had had two years laboring that way to prove it. But him being right only made her angrier. "I had to _try_!" she cut in, roaring back at the giant as she was sure no one had ever done, completely unafraid of him, and the enormous, deadly hands so close to her neck, "I _loved_ him, Amarant! I loved him, and I lost him! When I thought I might get him back, I had to _try_!" she sneered up at the outlaw, wanting her words to hurt him as much as his had her, "You say I have your heart and soul? Once upon a time, he had mine! I at least chased my dream... What the _fuck_ stopped you, coward?"

Freya felt a surge of victory when he paused, and drew his head back slightly, the movement shifting his dreadlocks and giving her a glimpse of surprised golden eyes. He had never heard her curse seriously before, had he? Well _ha_! See? She could surprise him, she could... The surprise only lasted for a second before he plastered that damn sneer she had seen in her head for three years over his face, "I _told_ you, you rat-faced bitch, the princess gets her happily ever after, and the troll returns to his home under the bridge!"

Why the _hell_ was he talking in riddles? "So the almighty Flaming Amarant believes in fairy tales?" she shot back at him derisively, wanting him to just _say_ what he meant. If he had _really_ wanted her, why hadn't he said or done anything about it?

He snorted, "Fuck no. Fairy tales are for babies, and noble ladies..." he winced when she kicked him in the shin. It served him right for only thinking to prevent her access to her lance, when she was capable of fighting without it. He shook her in return, but it was only once, and for him, it was gently... so her head only snapped back _slightly_, "I wanted you to be happy, you selfish, inconsiderate rat-faced bitch! _That_ was all that was important!"

Oh no, she was _not_ going to let him get away with the 'I wanted you to be happy' martyr _crap_! She had been _living_ as a martyr for three years, and he was _completely_ unsuited to the task. She punched him that time, in the thigh since she could not move her arms enough to hit anywhere more interesting, and it annoyed her that she could not put much power behind it. "Well what if I dragged you out from under your bridge so I _could_ be happy?" she roared, "What if I've been thinking about you, and missing you, and wishing to see your face, even at a distance? What if I've been praying you would show up, and fight, either against or with me, I don't care? What if I've been craving your presence? What if I got sick of pretending to be someone I'm not, and followed all the rumors I had heard of your presence until I finally found you here? What if I don't want to part ways with you again? What do you think about _that_, Mr. Troll?" Alright, so she had not meant for all of that to come rushing out so ungracefully, but she was not going to back down, and she took no small pleasure out of the look of shock that crossed the redhead's face.

She continued to glare up at Amarant even when he yanked her helmet roughly off, and stared down at her as though to determine if she were serious. He shook his head slightly so his dreadlocks moved from his eyes and he could examine her face unimpeded, and she felt her heart start beating faster at the sight of those draconian orbs. _'You still look like a Grand Dragon, Amarant... just one that's flown into the side of a mountain.' _The seconds seemed to stretch into years as they stood there unmoving, staring at each other, and Freya ruthlessly quashed the doubt that tried to rise in her, and stared back defiantly. She had made her move, all the way from Burmecia to Treno, and she had said her piece. Now it was up to him.

Amarant slid his hands from her shoulder, and his huge arms wrapped around her slender body with a gentleness even she, with her faith in him, was surprised to find he possessed, and he held her. After no more than a heartbeat to ascertain whether or not this was real, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around him. Stupid knuckle-dragger. He had worked his way into her mind and heart and stayed there with the tenacity of a burr, rendering himself completely unforgettable, no matter how hard she had tried to distract herself... but now that she was there, and he was holding her with a grip so gentle, and yet completely unbreakable, that was completely alright... because she knew he thought she was unforgettable too.


End file.
